Washington County, Maine
Apple trees heavy with the season’s fruit,
piebald, yellow, planet-red, even black,
stand abandoned in fields, the unintended
gift of those who long ago moved on,
a gift to waxwings and even to the tone-
deaf crows in their undertaker’s suits,
to the man driving slowly, window down,
to the worms in their snow-white orbit.
By Passamaquoddy Bay
Thin light over Campobello Island
to the east when I rise to walk
the long abandoned railroad bed.
Not a trace is left of the rails.
I have several letters to answer
and yesterday’s paper to read,
but the wild apples are waiting
cold on the tongue, polished by mist.
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